Skylarks build their nests on the ground, which may explain why they sing the most in flight. Even if you are unfamiliar with their song, as I imagine most people are not, the title and subject of the painting allude to their beauty.
My grandmother loved to listen to the larks, especially when they sang while hovering. During mating, the songs could last for minutes. She often pointed out the different types of songs to me. As a kid, I wasn’t impressed.
Dear to the author’s grandmother
the Horned Lark is the only lark native to North America.
Years later, as an adult, I happened to sleep in a tent right on the edge of a meadow. The silence was perhaps the most complete I have ever heard. Just before sunrise, when the light looked more like an idea than a reality, there was a deafening commotion that jolted me awake. It was phone number library mating season, and before I knew it, the sky was full of larks fighting over mates or territory or maybe just needing to sing. Maybe it was the effect of the silence and the way my mind still rose from sleep, but the sound went through me, pierced me as poets often describe it. It was liquid, melodic and urgent.
sickle Probably the species that
My grandmother taught me how to use a sickle to cut the tall grass and weeds growing along the drainage ditch near her garden. It was hard work and required calluses. Like the sickle the woman holds, my grandmother’s was handmade and had been sharpened so many times that it no the fundamentals of database services revealed longer appeared circular. Back then song of the lark was painted, the industrial revolution was catching up with Europe, including in agriculture. Some believe the painting is a nostalgic look at a kind of rural life that may soon disappear with the advent of machinery. Maybe so, which could also explain its popularity among city dwellers, many of whom had grown up in small, rural towns. Of course, Breton had no idea how the silence needed to fully appreciate the song would also disappear with the advent of the gasoline engine.
Inspired the young woman’s look of transfiguration
The last time I saw my grandmother’s sickle was a hanging hanging on the wall of her decaying barn, a rusty comma waiting to create a slight pause between two words. And I haven’t heard a skylark in a while, especially since I live in town. Looking at this painting, however, I find b2c fax myself blending several memories into one, trying to create the perfect moment: I am a child working with a sickle who stops to listen to a passing lark sing, while my grandmother mother smiles from somewhere outside the frame.